


Moments

by turtle_wexler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_wexler/pseuds/turtle_wexler
Summary: A collection of SSHG drabbles.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 197
Kudos: 188
Collections: Hearts & Cauldrons Snail Mail Exchange, Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Mersheeple: Food

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this first drabble was provided by the lovely Mersheeple: food.

The sausages were rebelling.

Dashing across the kitchen, Severus slammed a lid over the flaming pan. How, precisely, the sausages had caught fire in the first place, he could not say. The bacon was a lost cause as well, and the state of the eggs didn’t bear contemplating.

Cooking breakfast for Hermione had seemed like a simple enough plan. He was a Potions Master. He should be able to master toast without turning it to charcoal. And yet…

“Severus?” 

Hermione stood in the doorway in one of his shirts, her nose wrinkled. A vision.

“Good morning,” he said.

“What on earth happened here?”

“Breakfast. Obviously.”

“Right… I’m going back to bed.”

Severus smirked. Going back to bed was an even better plan.


	2. tumblr prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Morbidmuch, the-capricious-one, Q-Drew, and NaomiJameston, who sent me made up fic titles as prompts via tumblr. If you want to prompt me as well, you can do so [here](https://turtlewexlerwrites.tumblr.com/)

**The Wilted Marigold**

Yellow and orange petals stick to the pages as she opens the book, spoiling the memento. Hermione touches the shrivelled stem.

Five years before, she sat in a beer garden with Severus and plucked the marigold from a planter. Twirling it between her fingers, she stared at the flower to avoid looking at him. He saw right through her. He had to. Every time she was around him, she felt transparent. 

Now, she closes the book and shuts her eyes against the stinging threat of tears. Time to put it away.

* * *

**Bitter Tomorrows**

She remembers when England was green. Not in that cantankerous old _I remember when this was all fields_ sort of way. What she remembers is the way life used to spring up everywhere. Moss carpeting drives, tufts of grass peeking up between cracks in the pavement, wildflowers taking root in the middle of stone walls. Nothing like this brown, barren wasteland.

Wetting a cloth, she wipes the dust from her face. How many vacant cities have they passed through now? She lost count somewhere around the skeleton of what had once been Coventry. Miles yet to go, but they are still alive. That’s something. Turning to Severus, she tries to give him a smile.

The mask hides his mouth, but she can tell. He smiles back.

* * *

**The Other Side of the Mirror**

Severus can’t look away.

Oh, he wants to. He wants to turn and run until he can’t catch his breath, but something about the magic of the mirror holds him in place, steals his voice. Boggarts seem comical in comparison—the sort of practical jokes on offer at Weasley’s shop. Nothing like the dark nightmares that claw their way across the glass. Severus has faced the worst sort of monsters, but he could _move_ then. He could shield his mind. His old armour offers no protection here.

In the next room, Hermione hums to herself, off-key and oblivious. A scream snags in his throat.

Dumbledore never told him the Mirror of Erised had another side.

* * *

  
**An Afternoon in May**

She always comes back to him in May. When the flowers bloom and the earth starts to warm, she finds a new way through. He leaves a bowl of milk on the doorstep to appease her fae captors, the way his mother taught him, but they will drag her back. They never fail. One afternoon a year is all they allow.

Magic cannot touch them. Once, he tried adding potions to the milk, but they caught the scent. If they punished her for it, she refused to say.

Tending the garden she planted for him, he waits for the hushed sound of her footsteps. She won’t be long.


	3. misspeaches: Socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was provided by the wonderful misspeaches: socks

Hermione snorts as she flips past yet another article about Severus’s return to the Wizarding World. The way the _Prophet_ tells it, he carried on a torrid love affair with her during the war and came back because he could no longer bear being without her.

The truth of how they got reacquainted was rather less romantic. 

A year before, Hermione climbed into the back of a black cab, rattling off her destination. The journey might have passed in uneventful silence, had she not glanced down. A dirty sock was bunched up under the front seat.

“Sir,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. “Did you know that there’s a sock back here?”

“Is there?” a deep voice said in a supremely uninterested tone. “I imagine it belongs to the rather inebriated man I picked up earlier. You should feel fortunate he did not leave behind a far more unpleasant souvenir.”

Hermione knew that voice. A few words, and she could place it without a doubt. Gasping, she caught the driver’s gaze in the rear view mirror. Dark eyes—so dark they almost looked black. Snape. He’d been hiding right under their noses in Muggle London the whole time.

“Sir?” she whispered. “Professor?”

Those familiar eyes narrowed. “I am no one’s professor.”

“No, not now—not for quite a while, but… It is you.”

“I’m certain you must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“And I’m certain I haven’t. But if you don’t want everyone to know you’re alive, then your secret is safe with me, sir. And since no one else can say it: thank you.”

He said nothing until they pulled up outside her flat and he told her the total fare. Hermione would have kept quiet and not told anyone—not even Harry—but then Snape spoke again.

“You may take the sock,” he said. “Free of charge. Give it to a House-Elf.”

“I knew it!”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you did, Granger. Now, are you going to take the sock or not?”


	4. LadyHeliotrope: Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lollipops mentioned in this drabble are real. I have never had one, but I have absolutely taken a photo of the stand. 😂 If you want to see them, [here](https://i2-prod.nottinghampost.com/incoming/article3387850.ece/ALTERNATES/s1200c/7_Raymonod-Brooks-2.jpg) is a link.
> 
> The prompt for this one was provided by the splendid LadyHeliotrope: lost.

“We’re by the cocks on a stick stall. No, I said cocks on a stick. COCKS. ON. A. STICK.”

Hermione’s shouts were beginning to draw some attention. Transfiguring her set of two-way mirrors to resemble Muggle mobile phones was meant to have the opposite effect. Severus sniffed. This was what she got for trusting Weasley with the other half of the mirror.

“Must we find them again?” he asked. “Let them fend for themselves. Potter is familiar with the Muggle world. They won’t die. Probably.”

In truth, Potter, Weasley, and Miss Lovegood had got lost with a little help from Severus. If he was going to spend hours being dragged around Nottingham’s Goose Fair, he was going to arrange some time alone with Hermione. He refused to tolerate the headache that would be caused by the combination of the large crowd and Potter.

“I suppose they’ll be fine,” Hermione said. “What do you want to do?” Gesturing at the stand full of rooster shaped lollipops, she grinned. “Want a cock on a stick?”

“I should think not.”

“Mm, your loss.”

She bought one of the larger cocks on a stick, unwrapping it and nibbling the rooster’s head as they walked between stalls that smelt of frying doughnuts and chips. Severus did not trust the temporary roller coasters, but Hermione wanted to try nearly every ride they passed. Why she ran towards something held together with a few bolts and a bit of hope but balked at the notion of flying on a broom was beyond him. 

He held her confection while she went on the pirate ship, the Wild Mouse roller coaster, and some sort of horrifying bungee contraption suspended from a crane. Every time, she returned to him with bright eyes and a wide smile. 

Her mirror made the ringing sound that meant Weasley was once again attempting to communicate. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione ignored it and took Severus’s hand.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s get some of those potato tornado things. The others can stay lost for a little bit longer.”

Severus had no idea what a potato tornado entailed, but he was not going to argue with that.


	5. Love: LunaP999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was provided by the wonderful LunaP999: love.
> 
> Also: I do have another multichapter fic in the works. I am writing the whole thing before I post, but it shouldn't be too much longer. 💖

All things considered, Hermione could do without romantic attraction. It was nothing but a bloody nuisance. Here she was, doing her job, trying to be professional, and idiotic feelings kept attempting to derail her life.

In love with her boss. _Honestly_. 

Well, she just needed to stop it. Lie down until it went away. Drown her emotions in multiple pints of ice cream. Anything to make her working life less awkward.

“Hermione,” Severus said. 

Her knees did not get weak at the sound of her first name in his deep voice. She refused to allow it.

“Did you bring the jars?” he asked.

Of course she had. Just because she was infuriatingly besotted, it didn’t mean she had suddenly become irresponsible. Reaching into her beaded bag, she withdrew the two blue jars. His fingers brushed hers as he took one. That was fine. She was fine. Not at all affected.

Coming all the way to Sweden to collect a specific type of magical phytoplankton for their latest Potions experiment had only made things worse. All of the intimate dinners, the long talks as they explored the area together—it was a recipe for disaster. Even their actual work veered too close to a romantic setting: alone at a lake at sunrise, with the sky a beautiful pinkish orange and the water so still it looked like glass. Why couldn’t they be in need of dragon dung or the spleen of some disgusting creature? Ugh.

A quick detection spell revealed a cluster of the phytoplankton a couple of metres from the shore. Stepping out of her shoes, Hermione waded into the cool water. One of her feet slipped on an algae-slicked stone, but Severus was there with a steadying hand, grabbing her elbow to keep her from falling. He smiled that smile at her—the secret one that he only seemed to let out when they were alone, when his guard was down and his voice was soft.

Merlin. She was a fool if she thought this could be wished away. He meant too much. 

“Are you going to continue to think so loudly?” he asked. “It’s rather distracting.”

Oh. Oh, no. Hermione’s face burned. Her first instinct was to sink beneath the water and slink away to live with the monster of Vättern. But Severus kept smiling at her, and the monster was probably one of Luna’s inventions, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“Would you rather I said it out loud?” she whispered.

“If you like.”

“Will it change things?”

“Undoubtedly.”

She drew in a jagged breath. Well, he already knew. There was no point in— 

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

Her jaw dropped open. “Severus!”

“Yes?”

“You just stole my thunder.”

“Hmm.” That smile of his widened. “So I did.”

“Well, fine. I love you, too. If I try to kiss you, are you going to jump in and kiss me before I can manage it?”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Would you mind terribly if I did?”

The answer to that question was no, it turned out. She did not mind at all.


	6. blackcoffee13: Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was provided by the lovely blackcoffee13: woods. I kept myself to drabble length because I had to write it out by hand (snail mail exchange), but it _really_ wanted to be a longfic, so it is officially in my IDEAS doc as well. 
> 
> I don't know why my IDEAS doc is in all caps, but that's how I named the file when I made it, so there we are.

This hadn’t been in any of the books.

Calves burning from exertion, Hermione trudged up yet another hill after Snape. She had read everything she could about how to find the elusive sponsa flower. They were in the right forest; she knew it. She’d translated the runes, pinpointed the exact location on a map, found all of the correct landmarks. What the books had neglected to mention was that the woods were so bloody hilly. 

“We could have brought brooms,” Snape said, glancing back at her over his shoulder. He wasn’t even winded. Bastard.

Hermione shuddered. “Absolutely not.”

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. I do not require a broom to fly.”

“You are not flying off and leaving me here.”

“Who said anything about leaving you?”

The hint of dark promise in his voice made Hermione’s steps falter. For a moment, she pictured herself wrapped around him as he soared above the treetops. She gave herself a mental shake.

“The exercise will do us good,” she said bracingly. “And anyway, I think we’re almost there.”

They were not almost there. It was another hour of climbing and descending and fighting their way through the underbrush before they reached a clearing full of delicate white flowers that looked like miniature bridal veils.

They got to work harvesting their prize, using the special goblin-made secateurs that Snape had managed to borrow. Most of the flowers were inside a fairy ring of glowing mushrooms, twined around the stone arch Hermione’s books had mentioned. Stepping inside the ring, she gathered a bouquet of flowers. 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At first. The instant Snape crossed the perimeter of the ring, a shiver of unfamiliar magic coursed through Hermione. She had been wearing hiking gear when they’d set out: mud-caked boots, quick-dry trousers, and a waterproof jacket. Not a diaphanous white gown with intricate embroidery. Snape’s Muggle clothing had been replaced by formal robes and a sweeping black cape. 

In unison, they reached for their wands. Gone. 

“Erm,” she said.

“Yes,” Snape said. “Quite.”

The books had not mentioned _this_ , either.

Thanking her past self for spending so much time on mastering wandless magic, Hermione stood back to back with Snape. As her hand brushed his, hundreds of flecks of golden light swirled through the woods around them. A ghostly, insubstantial ribbon wrapped around their wrists and bound them together.

Snape jerked away from her, but it was too late. Stars rained down on them from the top of the stone arch. Hermione had seen those stars before, falling on Bill and Fleur.

“Snape,” she said. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

She didn’t need to ask. Of course it did.

“I believe so, yes.”

They were married.


	7. Flowers: Galaxy Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this drabble was "flowers," provided by the wonderful Galaxy Eyes!

The peonies were Hermione’s favourites. She loved the giant ruffly blossoms and the heady fragrance, but most of all she liked watching Lavender do what she referred to as the ant dance. Deliveries of peonies always came with a free helping of ants.

“Bloody things,” Lavender said, wriggling and batting at her arms.

Hermione took a sip of tea to hide her smirk. “Ants are very important insects.”

Before Lavender could respond, the bell over the shop door rang. Severus Snape marched in, black robes billowing and customary scowl firmly in place.

Here we go, Hermione thought, her stomach doing a little somersault. She narrowed her eyes.

“Mr Snape,” she said through her falsest smile. “What can we do for you? Another apology bundle?”

He looked down his nose at her. “No, not today.”

“Really? That’s a surprise.”

Anyone else would have missed the slight twitch at the corner of his lips, but Hermione caught it and claimed it as a victory. For her part, Lavender did a horrible job of stifling her giggle. Neither Hermione nor Snape reacted to the muffled snort. 

“I would like the number five package,” Snape said.

Another squeak from Lavender. Hermione tried not to show that this statement affected her at all—tried not to show the way her heart raced. 

All of the bouquets at Little Otter Flowers were magically enhanced to deliver an emotion as well as blossoms. When the recipient opened the card, they sensed things like apology, condolence, friendship. It did not force them to actually feel the emotion; it was more like overhearing a whisper than speaking the words. They experienced it at a distance—secondhand.

Snape had never requested the number five bundle before.

He looked at his watch. “ _Today_ would be preferable.”

“Lavender,” Hermione said, “could you fill this order? I’ll deal with the peonies.”

* * *

He was waiting for her when she got home: shoes off, jacket hung on the hook, bouquet of pink peonies in a vase on her kitchen table. 

“Hi,” Hermione said.

Snape smiled at her like he never did in public. “Hello.”

Nodding towards the flowers, she gave him a nervous smile. “Are those for me?”

“You know they are.”

Crossing to the table, she extracted the crisp white envelope that Lavender had stuck into the bouquet. Her hands trembled as she unpicked the flap. The glue finally gave way, and a gentle wave of love wrapped around her.

Hermione took a shuddering breath. They’d been keeping whatever was between them a secret, always putting on an act in public. She hadn’t realised he returned her feelings. 

“Does this mean you want to tell people?” she asked. “About us, I mean.”

He shrugged. “If you like. It would make inviting them to our wedding somewhat easier.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Are we getting married?”

“It seems rather inevitable, does it not?”

Hermione traced a fingertip around the edge of the love-infused card and smiled. “If you like.”


	8. NaomiJameston: Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was provided by the lovely NaomiJameston: tomorrow. Be warned that she loves angst, so when I wrote this, I did my best to hurt her. It's not my usual happy, fluffy sort of drabble at all. 😂

She was late.

Severus paced back and forth across the forest clearing, bumping up against the edge of the Muffliato he’d cast

He would have heard if she’d been captured. Unless, of course, she’d been tortured into giving up information about him. She’d always sworn she wouldn’t, but her Occlumency skills had never been tested against the Dark Lord.

“If they ever find me,” she was fond of saying, “I want you to run. Leave the country. Save yourself.”

His response was always to distract her with a kiss. He would not flee from this war. He was not such a coward.

Finally, the trees at the edge of his spell rustled, and Hermione’s head appeared from thin air, followed by the rest of her as she shrugged off Potter’s invisibility cloak. With a wider grin than he’d seen from her in quite some time, she cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. There was something different about that touch. They’d always had to rush, but this was more urgent, more forceful.

“This is it, Severus,” she said, bright and breathless. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We can end this. Harry can—tomorrow.”

It took a few moments for the words to register. The fight had been going on for so many years. Whatever she and Potter had been doing kept dragging on and on, the end never in their grasp. That it might finally be over felt nothing short of surreal. 

“What do you want to do first?” she asked. “When we’re both free?”

He tucked a lock of her wild hair behind her ear. “Sleep.”

She laughed. “It’s really happening.”

Perhaps. Overcome with sudden superstition, he didn’t want to risk putting the cart before the Thestral. They still had miles to go, battles to fight.

“I need to get back,” she said. “Tomorrow, Severus.”

She didn’t move to kiss him again. 

“Tomorrow,” he said, brushing against her Occlumency shields, just in case. It felt wrong. Familiar, in a way, but too hard and unyielding. Panic tightened around his throat.

Something stirred in the darkness beyond his wards. The distinct, metallic thunk of an Anti-Apparition spell slammed into place. 

_No._

Silver-masked faces emerged from the trees. Hermione’s face shifted, lips thinning, eyes growing heavy lidded. Not Hermione at all. Oh, gods. His stomach churned. He didn’t care what became of him—he’d always known he would die in this war—but what had they done with Hermione? 

Bellatrix smirked. “Got you.”


End file.
